


The Last Song

by NarcisseNoir



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ciri is fine tho, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt is smart of mind but dumb of feelings, Happy ending (wink wink), Heartbreak, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon Fix-It, also stay safe because covid-19 and all that, be gay an do crimes but from home, but then enough comfort to make you feel like cats the movie the musical never happened, enough angst to make you feel like an emo teen all over again, everyone is hurt even the oc’s
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23573905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NarcisseNoir/pseuds/NarcisseNoir
Summary: Almost a year after he and Geralt parted ways, Jaskier struggled to forget his harsh words and move on with his life without the Witcher. But when a mysterious woman offers him a way to erase Geralt from his heart, Jaskier finds that one last song about the White Wolf is a small price to pay if it means he’ll stop dreaming about things that cannot be. But is it really?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg (mentioned)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 101





	1. The Bard.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic on this fandom, hope you like it <3

Geralt´s harsh last words still rang inside his head endlessly. _If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands._

He had waited ten seconds after his explosive outburst, hoping that Geralt would realize what a fool he had been and make emends. _That’s not fair_. It wasn’t fair indeed. Truly, in the first two seconds, he knew that it would all be in vain. His friend blamed him for the early departure of Yennefer, and every other occurrence that had been brought onto him by his influence. _See you around, Geralt._ He could not say goodbye. It had felt too cold, too definitive. He opted instead for wishes of future adventures to come. But he had changed his mind since then.

Almost a year had dragged after that day in the mountains where he lived his greatest adventure so far, but also his greatest heartache. He had lost his muse, his best friends, his… _no, don’t go there_. In all fairness, the fact he hadn’t seen Geralt since, had been brought mostly by how hard he worked to avoid the man. It wasn’t uncommon to hear whispers of the presence of the White Wolf on a city nearby — sometimes they had even been in the same place — , but he always ran as far as he could on the opposite direction once he heard such rumors. About six months ago he had been just outside of Temeria when he heard tales of a white-haired Witcher fighting a pack of Erynias that was causing all sorts of hell in the city; targeting people, cattle — dead or alive — it seemed to matter very little to the creatures. He had missed Geralt so much that for the whole rest of day he contemplated just following the trail of death and decay and join him in the fight. Admittedly, he wouldn’t do much fighting — or any fighting at all — , but he would get to see Geralt and that was enough. He made halfway into the path the villagers said would take him towards their nest before his better judgment convinced him otherwise. Even if he was lucky enough to survive the Erynias, Geralt’s rejection would surely kill him. He turned around and walked out of the city towards the following one where he took a boat into an island on the coast of Redania where he remained for a couple of weeks. The place had been rather unoccupied and peaceful — far too quiet for his liking — , but it served as a good conduit for inspiration. There, he composed two of his currently most popular songs: ‘Serenade to the Sea’ and ‘Siren’s Song’ — aside from the one about Geralt, of course.

Jaskier drank another forceful gulp of the lukewarm ale with mysterious bits floating on top of it, hoping to drown his restless thoughts in alcohol. The last crowd he had sang to on the previous night — the celebration of the engagement of a noble woman — was composed mainly by court maidens who were more than happy to hear his repertoire of love ballads and mellow songs. Some even seemed enamored by his boyish looks, and although he had amused them with dazzling smiles and charming words, he had gone to bed alone. Some days not even the prospect of having someone beside him upon waking up was enough to soothe the deep ache that had settle inside his chest. _What was the point of it, really? They would all leave eventually_. Best to do his job, entertain the listeners, and then keep it to himself. The next day get up and do it all over again.

His most recent crowd, however, all they wanted was to hear the tales of the great White Wolf. Jaskier managed to get by most of the night with ballads of other adventures, but eventually the mood became too aggravated and he was forced to sing his ode to the Witcher. _His_ Witcher, like some used to call him. Little did they know that, if Geralt had ever been his _anything_ at any point, that was no longer the case. Hadn’t been for quite some time.

Still, Jaskier had to make a living no matter how much it pained him to open barely healed wounds. The crowd went wild — smiles from ear to ear — lifting their half empty cups to sing along every time he reached the chorus. _Toss a coin to your Witcher, oh valley of plenty._ They sang all in unison. All happy but him.

The first verse alone had brought a wave of unwanted emotions to the surface — it had been one of the few times he performed the song since his departure from Geralt — but he got trough it without breaking into tears. _Barely_. Jaskier supposed that by now he was good at hiding his true feelings. No one seemed to notice the bitterness lingering in his tone every time he had to sing the song. He might miss one note here and there when the flooding of emotions threatened to spill over, but he distracted the audience by asking them to sing with him. They were satisfied, and after a few short ballads finally let him be.

That’s how he found himself sitting in a corner alone, more than happy to let the alcohol take over his restless mind only if for a moment.

_‘I love the way you just sit in the corner and —’_

No, he would not let himself walk down that particularly painful memory lane anymore. He needed to gather his thoughts, focus on his music and move on with his life. Geralt certainly had had no problem doing so.

“Why so lonely bard?”

Jaskier looked up and found a maiden with long black hair and smooth skin staring back at him. In another time he might even try to be in her good graces and charm his way into her chambers, but not today. He wanted to be kept to his own devices. To wallow in self pity and drink his sorrows away.

“Enjoying my hard earned rest.” He lifted his glass at her, a parting salute. “Alone.”

_Just like he was when you first met,_ his mind supplied. _No matter what you do, he’s always in the forefront of your thoughts._

“That I can see. Do you mind if I join you?” She sat beside him unceremoniously, not even waiting for his response. “I´m Annalen of Barsa.”

“Barsa you say?” He heard of the tales about the city’s endless natural beauties — valley’s covered in blooming flowers and waters so translucent one could see the life beaming underneath the surface. He also heard about their unique costumes regarding their maidens. They were to remain untouched until marriage, pure in all the ways one could be. Her name sounded vaguely familiar to him as well. Maybe they met at passing in one of the many occasions he had entertained nobles and royals. She definitely seemed like the type. All fine silks and embroidered skirts. “Have we met prior to now? Your name sounds familiar to me.”

“Like an old song you were forced to sing?”

Jaskier almost chocked on his beverage. Her comment seemed too on point to be coincidental. They had to have met prior to this encounter.

“Perhaps. So we met before?”

“I’m afraid not. But tell me bard… is it true that you played shadow to Geralt of Rivia? That together you traveled the lands slaying beast after beast?”

Just the mention of his name was enough to make Jaskier feel like she had just probed him with sharp knives. Sadly, it wasn’t the first time his name had caused a similar reaction.

“I did no slaying, I must confess. I was but an avid observer of said adventures.”

“Is it safe to assume that you and your… friend, had a falling out?”

Jaskier swallowed the rest of his drink with one desperate gulp. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough to afford to think about Geralt and what the man meant to him. Whoever this woman was — and whatever it was she hoped to accomplish with this conversation — , had no place in his life anymore.

He smiled, turning up his charm as much as he could in his present condition, hoping that it would be enough to make her forget about the Witcher.

“Is rather late, my lady. Isn’t there a lovely noble man that impatiently awaits for your return?”

“Don’t patronize me, bard. My only commitment is to my magic.”

“Ah, you’re a sorcerer then.” Like her. _Yennefer._ Like the one who holds his heart. He motioned for the innkeeper to bring him more ale, wishing the substance would claim his senses not a minute later. He was definitely not ready to have any other reminder of his heartache and the role the sorcerer played on it. Still, it was best to play along. If there was one thing he had learned with their encounter with Yennefer, was to never anger the likes of them. “I should have known, for you enchanted all eyes to hold nothing but your gaze.”

“Your words hold no sentiment, bard.” Her lips quirked into a modest smile, and she too motioned to the innkeeper to bring her a drink. “At least not the ones directed at me.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that, my lady.”

The man was quick to bring her a thin glass filled with a clear amber liquid. Definitely not the cheap ale Jaskier and most of the other patrons had been served. Whoever this sorcerer was, they deemed her worthy of special treatment. If due to fear of respect, he didn’t know. But if the looks their interaction were given served as any sign, the former was most likely.

“The Witcher, bard. Geralt of Rivia.”

“Our journey together came to an end, and we parted ways.” He said, matter-of-factly, hoping that she couldn’t tell that his carefree answer was just a front to hide his true feelings on the subject. It was true that they would eventually part ways — Geralt wouldn’t tolerate him forever, and what the Witcher didn’t take care of, time would be sure to resolve. Geralt would remain nearly unaffected by the years, and as for Jaskier, he could already see the cruel reminders of how relentless time could be. Yennefer had been quick to point out so much. “There are other adventures out there to sing about. Not only the ones lived by him.”

“And yet… you’ve done very little singing since.”

_Who is this woman? What does she want?_

“How did you —”

“I’ve been watching you, Jaskier. When night falls, and the wind is nothing but a whisper between the tress, you mourn the loss of your dear Witcher, don’t you?” He opened his mouth to retort, but she lifted her hand, signaling that she wasn’t done speaking. “There’s no need to answer. I know you do. Your chest aches and your heart can no longer be contained inside its cage. Bathed by moonlight, even the nightwraiths must pity you, bard.”

“It seems like you wish to gloat on my expense.”

“Forgive me if it seemed that way. It was not my intention.” Annalen covered his shaking hand with hers, giving a gentle tug she hoped it would come off as reassuring. _Fragile little things, these humans. One needs to be careful or they might just break._ “I only wish to help.”

“I require no help, my lady, for friendships end every day. Nothing abnormal about that.”

“Do not forget that sorcerers don’t age, bard. I may _look_ young and bright eyed, but I assure you I am nothing of the sorts. I have lived and seen more than you could ever imagine, and I _know_ a broken heart when I see one. You need my help. _Desperately._ ”

“And how would you do such a thing? Will you fashion me a love potion, so I can imprison him by my side with a lie?”

Annalen shook her head, using her long nails to dip inside her drink and then bring it to her lips. Like a cat would with milk.

“No, your Witcher is lost to you, bard. The rumors of his undying devotion for Yennefer have spread across the lands, and I’m afraid even the strongest potion can’t undo that. He’s been restlessly looking for her, it seems.”

“Oh.” Jaskier felt tears gathering on his bottom lashes. _Of course_ _._ He imagined that it would be the case. Geralt had tied himself to Yennefer with a wish from the djinn. _Of course he ’s madly in love with her. What else did you expect? That he would be out there looking for you? _“Then… how could you help me?”

“His feelings for Yennefer can’t be changed as they are destined for one another. But yours can.”

_What she meant by that?_ How could he change his feelings towards Geralt? It sounded absurd to even think about that, let alone to attempt it.

“I don’t understand.”

“I can help you by extinguishing this tortuous feeling that made a home of your poor meek heart and set you free from this curse.”

“I don’t… I don’t think that is possible. My feelings for him are — ”

“Truly, what have you gained by loving your Witcher?” She interrupted him, beyond tired with their whole interaction. Like one would be with a child that simply would not be told otherwise when asked to give away an old toy that no longer served them. “What could any human gain from loving one? He will live many more lives to come unbothered by time or circumstance. As for you kind, bard… time will not be merciful. I’m offering a way for you to go on living without having to carry such a heavy weight.”

“Would I… forget about him?”

“No. Your memory will go unaffected by the magic. But how you _feel_ about him will change.”

“How exactly?”

“Well, for starters when you hear the name Geralt of Rivia your face will not contort into this painful stare.” She said, gently touching the space between his eyebrows. “You should know better than to do this expression, anyway. Being a human and all. _Wrinkles_.”

“Look — ”

“Hearing his name will be like hearing any other ordinary name. And most of all, you’ll no longer _ache_ for something that you cannot have. Your love for him is of no use to you, bard. You might as well just let me have it.”

“And what exactly would you do with… it? How would you even take it from me? Love is not something you can hold it in your hands and then put away somewhere. Love is — ”

“I require no explanations regarding love, bard. _Especially_ from a human. What your kind understands about love and life could barely fill one of my potion jars.” He got up, clearly offended by her words and ready to storm out into whatever cubicle he had rented for the night when she held him by the hand, urging him to stay. “Apologies. I tend to be overly harsh with my words at times. What I meant to say was: this agreement would be beneficial for us both. You get to be free of the love that imprisons you, and I get to have the feeling I require.”

“Why would you need my — this feeling?”

“Is not your love per se that I need, but your broken heart. Heartache is one of the strongest feelings someone could experience, humans and _others_ alike. It takes a lot of strength to live with such a pain, and a feeling this strong is always of use to someone like me.”

_Very well_. He didn’t understand exactly _how_ his heartache — or anyone's for that matter — , would be of use for a sorcerer, but if what she said was true and she could take this feeling away from him, maybe it was worth a try. Like she said, this love had brought him nothing but pain and suffering, and if things between Geralt and Yennefer progressed like he imagined they would, the pain he felt now would only intensify. Their love had been bound by fate and magic. A simple bard didn’t stand a chance against that.

The thought was impossible — inconceivable by all means. Jaskier didn’t believe he could ever not love Geralt in the desperate manner he did, let alone not love him at all. Despite resistance, logic or circumstance, this feeling had weaved its way into his soul, to the point that Jaskier didn’t know how to separate himself from it anymore. Loving Geralt was as natural as breathing — one did it without giving any thought and stopping it felt like drowning on dry land.

But if the sorcerer said she could do something about it, then he was willing to accept her offer.

When he absentmindedly rested his hand on his pocket and felt there the small bag filled with coins, Jaskier was reminded that they hadn’t yet discussed payment. No sorcerer he knew, or heard of, ever performed magical services free or charge and surely she wouldn’t be any different.

“I’m afraid I don’t have enough coin to afford your services. As you pointed out, I haven’t sung with the same fervor and enthusiasm ever since… well, you know. ”

She shook her head, giving him a sympathetic look. _No need, bard._

“Rest assure. The feeling is all the payment I require.”

That… changed things. If he didn’t have to pay for her services, then he truly had nothing of importance to lose, even if the spell didn’t work.

_Except —_

“Will it be painful? Would I be in any danger?”

“You won’t feel a thing. I promise that much.”

“So… how would you do this? Is it like… an incantation, a spell?” When she made no indication of answering his question and just stared at him, he went on. “Really, what is it? I’m curious because I know very little about magic and none about this kind. I could really use some enlightening.”

Annalen smiled, toying with one long curly strand of raven hair. _Pity, he is quite endearing when he goes on and on like that._ In a different situation, she would’ve loved to take the bard as a lover and toy with him a little before getting sick of his constant ramblings and erratic behavior.

“You’ll do what you do best.”

_Talk? Annoy people?_

“And what would that be, if I may ask?”

“Music, bard. A song to be more precise.”

“A song? About what?”

“I need you to make your best song yet. Put into it all your love and devotion for your Witcher. You will perform the song for me seven days from now, on the full moon. And once the song is over… so will be your love for the White Wolf of Rivia.”

_Funny._ Geralt wasn’t even from Rivia, but Witchers were encouraged to choose their own surnames in order to appear more trustworthy to humans. He didn’t know where Geralt had been born — he never mentioned and Jaskier knew it to be too sensitive of a topic to ask — , but the man had told him about growing up on Kaer Morhen, and the difficult training to become a Witcher. He had even talked about Visenna and how she had abandoned him and disappeared in the wind, never to be seen or heard of ever again. Unbeknownst to Geralt, he revealed a lot about him to Jaskier over the years they walked alongside one another.

And yet… it had been so easy for him to cast the bard aside. That had hurt infinitely more than the curse from the djinn.

“So… one last song and I will no longer love him?”

“One last song and your heart will be free to wander like a bird.”

Jaskier took a deep breath and drank the rest of the amber liquid from Annalen’s glass.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”


	2. The Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt navigates life without his former travel companion, all the while trying to convince himself that the separation was for the best. There was no place in his life for someone like Jaskier, and the sooner the man realized that, the better. 
> 
> At least now he had someone else to make him company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to do four chapters instead of three, because I'm planning a little surprise that hopefully I'll be able to complete in time for the final chapter. *fingers crossed*

Geralt walked the long path that would lead him back towards the city, distributing most of his weight to his left leg. _Limping, of all things._ The right one had a relatively deep slash that went from below his hip bone, stopping just inches away from his knee. _Fucking_ _Erynias_ _,_ he cursed to himself. _Being worse than full bloom Harpies, even though they were supposed to be the lesser evil._ The danger with them was no different than with Harpies; if you found a few of them they were easier to separate and kill, but if you found yourself amidst a populated nest, they were quick to circle above you and attack from all directions.  Tairyn , the man who hired  Geralt to kill the creatures, had assured him the nest only had two adults and one infant — so they settled the price accordingly. Come to find out there was no infant but four adults more than ready to cause mayhem. He managed to get one alone even before fully entering the nest, but the other three put up a hell of a fight — hence his injured leg. 

_The man better be prepared with more coin, to —_

He stopped. His acute senses sending alarm bells to his mind. Something ahead on the path smelled so… _familiar._ His mind couldn’t quite place its origin, but it was almost there. _So close._ Despite his condition, Geralt quickened his step until he reached the source of the scent. _It can’t be_. He inhaled again, just to be sure. It didn’t make sense. _Orange blossom, sandalwood and just a hint of cinnamon,_ his mind supplied. He would recognize that aroma anywhere: Jaskier’s signature combination of scented oils. 

_´Orange blossom is fresh and just a tad sweet, and when mixed with the earthy notes from the sandalwood and the slight spiciness of the cinnamon it exudes this very warm, comforting yet sensual perfume.´_

Jaskier had explained to him once in the first year they became travel companions and  Geralt’s nose was still not accustomed to the unusual mix. He had sprinkled some on  Geralt’s things too, the bastard. On that first winter he reached Kaer  Morhen _reeking_ of  Jaskier , and he still hadn’t heard the end of it. It had become a recurring taunt for  Eskel and Lambert to throw at him. 

_´How is Jaskier, Geralt? How’s your bard?´_

They would ask him amidst training and revel in his anger and discomfort, using it as an opportunity to subdue him. He swore to never again let the bard get anywhere near him with his oils. But upon his arrival to the mainland,  Jaskier had followed up with: _´Do you like it,_ _Geralt_ _? ´_ , his hopeful blue eyes glued to  Geralt’s golden ones, impatiently waiting for his answer. To which, of course, he simply grunted and rolled his eyes because he was not about to admit that it didn’t displease him that much. It had been obnoxious at first — pungent even  — , but after a couple of months it had grown on him. He found the scent to be comforting, and warm, and… _nothing else._ Either way, he couldn’t let the bard know.  Jaskier would never let him forget that. He seemed disappointed by  Geralt’s lack of praise regarding his choice of perfume, but as with anything else related to their interactions,  Jaskier didn’t appear to take it personally. Over the years they had come to some sort of mutual understanding about how things worked between them: The bard would annoy him half to death, then  Geralt would lash out at him. They would fight, causing  Jaskier to be even more annoying and the cycle would go on and on until they were both too tired to argue and peace was reinstated. It had worked just fine for the better part of a decade until… he said _those words._

_‘If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.’_

The last ones he said before  Jaskier disappeared from his view. And he hadn’t seen him since. 

He followed the scent through the forest and back into the city, but amidst so many people and different smells,  Geralt had lost the trace. But if it was  indeed  him, what would the silly bard be doing in  Cidaris ? What did it  had to offer aside from  a couple of fisherman and their smelly clothes? Besides, wasn’t the kingdom the homeland of his rival? Valdo Marx was his name, if he recalled correctly. _Perhaps that’s exactly the reason._ Maybe  Jaskier had  decided to check if the djinn had killed Valdo or if the man had lived  trough his wish — when he had almost died for it. Or maybe  Geralt was just imagining things and his guilt driven thoughts had led him to mistake a similar scent for  Jaskier’s . It pained him to admit, even if for himself, that he thought about the bard often. 

He was careless, inattentive, and way too theatrical on the best of days. _Never shuts up either._ He didn’t know how to hunt, to fight and more often than not he seemed to forget that low temperatures greatly affected humans, and he would walk into a forest in the middle of a cold night with nothing but his silken garments to keep him warm. _He is probably shivering under the stars right now. Alone, with no one to —_ No, Geralt knew better than to dwell on such thoughts. Jaskier would be just fine. Yes, he was incapable of finding his way through the night and protecting himself from monsters or humans alike, but he was resourceful and cunning like no one he had ever met. And if nothing else worked, he could just charm his way into a lady’s chambers and secure a warm bed for the night. Jaskier would be fine. He didn’t need Geralt. _He’s better off without me._

Nonetheless, he needed a drink. The nearest tavern was — unsurprisingly — the one where he was spending the night. He had agreed to meet  Tairyn there after the job was done to collect his coin, so he would need to wait for the man before going to his room and put that day behind him. The patrons went dead silent when he entered, and their behavior only normalized after he drank his third cup of ale and one serving of mystery meat. It wasn’t anything that bothered him anymore, but he still found annoying how people would walk on eggshells around him.  Geralt supposed it was better that way. If people were that scared of him the chances of him being bothered by them were slim. Except if the person in question was someone like  Jaskier who — from day one  — , didn’t express an ounce of fear upon meeting him and had immediately invited himself into his life like he belonged there. If anything,  Geralt could sense the excitement oozing out of his pores the moment  Jaskier realized who he was. Where most sane people spent their short lifetimes hoping and praying, they wouldn’t come in harms ways, it seemed that  Jaskier ran towards it at any given opportunity. And he wasn’t picky either; human trouble or monster trouble, he ran into both with the same frequency. 

“Is the job done, Master Witcher?” 

Tairyn asked, to which he responded by throwing two of the four heads onto his lap and letting the man know how wrong he had been in his estimations.  Luckily he didn’t argue much about increasing the amount of coin for a job well done.  Geralt had very little patience to deal with stubbornness after a difficult kill. Let alone one that had left him injured enough that he would need a few days of good rest.

“ Geralt ! What took you so long?” 

He turned around to find  Ciri running down the stairs towards him, her small body  completely  covered by the cloak he had gotten her. The girl was truly Cintra’s little cub: impossible to contain. _Someone might recognize her_.  Geralt rushed towards her before she could reach the main floor where most of the patrons were. 

“I told you to wait in the room.” 

He turned her around and nudged her up the stairs and away from prying eyes.  Ciri reluctantly let herself  be guided towards the room, lagging a little in each step just to show  some semblance of  defiance. She was still Calanthe’s grandchild, after all . 

Once inside, he gave her his sternest stare, hoping that she would understand just how dangerous her actions could have been. She rolled her eyes at him and crossed her arms over her chest , clearly annoyed with what she probably deemed to be excess worrying of his part. 

“I know, I know. _The world is dangerous,_ _Cirila_ .” She answered, doing a vague impression of his tone when speaking. “But waiting is boring,  Geralt . _So boring_. Besides, you said you would be back till midday and  it's already night.  I could have been killed a thousand times while you were away.” 

Geralt’s expression turned sour. _She’s right._ He said to her he would be back no later than sundown and he had the full intention of keeping his word, but then he felt  Jaskier’s perfume — or thought he had  — , and all coherent thought fled his mind. All  he was focused on was finding the bard or any traces that could lead to him.

He sighed. If  Geralt intended on being  Ciri’s guardian he needed to do a better job in keeping his mind from wandering. No matter how hard it was to keep away from those thoughts.

“I got… sidetracked.” 

She must have read something on his expression, because next thing he knew  Ciri had her curious green eyes focused on him. 

“Yennefer?” 

“No, not her.” 

She seemed puzzled by his response, trying to think of other people who might matter to him just as much. 

“Who then?  Eskel ? Lambert?” He just shook his head, hoping she would let it go. “Another friend?” 

“No, just someone I used to travel with.” 

“Before you found me?” He nodded and just like that  her excitement was renewed . “Do they know about me? Did they help you look for me?” 

“Actually…  Jaskier is the reason you and Yennefer came to be in my life.” 

_Jaskier_ _is a funny name,_ she thought, trying to conjure up in her head how the owner of that name would look like. Maybe someone tall and strong like  Geralt ? 

“How come?” 

“He made a wish to a djinn that almost got him killed, so I found the nearest sorcerer to save him and that was Yennefer.” She continued to stare at him, eyes unblinking, so Geralt went on with his tale. “And about you… someone wanted him dead, so I reluctantly agreed to accompany him to a ball where he would perform — ” 

“Does he perform in plays?” 

“Music, actually. He’s a bard.” 

Her eyes went wide with excitement, even though  Geralt thought it was impossible for them to grow even more alert. 

“The one who made all those songs about you?” he nodded again. “And then what happened?” 

“Hm…” He didn’t know if Calanthe had told her about the details of how her parents got together, so  Geralt decided it was best to be vague. “There was a fight in the castle and I helped your grandmother. In exchange, I evoked the law of surprise.” _And here we are._

“I see.” She went quiet after that, all the excitement fading away and morphing into a worrisome look. “And that is not being a friend?” 

“Hm?” 

“You traveled together, had adventures, you cared for his life enough to find someone to save it, he brought you to Yennefer and to _me_ … and he is not yet a friend?” 

_She got you there, Geralt_ _._ He didn’t know how or what to give as an answer.  Witchers were raised to be fearless fighters — merciless and precise. Taught to be independent, resourceful and only ever rely on themselves and no one else. _Not even other_ _Witchers_ _._ Sure, he cultivated his relationship with  Vesemir ,  Eskel and Lambert and they were the closest that he had of a family. But even  then there was a distance that neither could break, being that all of them were raised by the same principles. It was a lie — even if perpetuated by themselves  — , that  Witchers could not feel. But no one had ever thaught them _how_ to feel. How to process all these complex emotions and make something out of them worth sharing with others. And then  Jaskier had stumbled into his life, wearing his heart on his sleeve, spewing every thought that had ever crossed his mind like it was the most common and sane thing to do. Even for normal — human — standards, Jaskier was too eager. _Too open._ And Geralt had been afraid. _A coward,_ his mind supplied. Afraid of caring about someone other than himself, and someone who would most likely not live past the age of sixty years. And what then? What would be of him? Going back to wandering alone, city after city, killing whatever found his way, and that paid enough for his troubles. He wouldn’t be able to back living like that. Not once he had let himself care.

And then he met Yennefer. Fearless, enchanting and seductive Yennefer. _And she is a sorcerer_. She didn’t age, could stand her ground in battle and was accustomed with the brutality of their world. _She is the one for me,_ he decided. With her, he could fully be himself without the lingering fear of humanity hovering over his head. And even though they had parted ways shortly after their first encounter, he had used the wish to bind their fates together. A desperate and rather selfish action, brought by his inability to properly understand his own feelings — that had already come to bite him in the ass. But it had given him time. It had given _them_ time. And compared to them, Jaskier had very little. He should make a better use of it than to follow a Witcher around. 

“Are we not friends either?” 

Ciri’s wounded tone brought him back to reality. 

“We are much more than that,  Ciri . We’re destined.” 

Ciri , with the precocious wisdom that fate only granted to those who would truly need it, gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her green eyes. 

“But if he was the one who brought you to your destiny… isn’t _he_ your destiny too?” 

… 

Time went by unceremoniously. Six months passed like it was six weeks. With the whispers of an ongoing war disappearing — and still no sign of Yennefer  — , all they could do was focus on the daily grind of monster hunting and go with the motions of life wherever it took them.  Ciri was a fast learner and  Geralt made a point to teach her all about the monsters he faced and others that could come their way. Fighting wasn’t her favorite subject, as she was still too small  to properly hold a sword, but she excelled with the lore. Her ability to recall details was uncanny and  Geralt would often quiz her on how to kill specific monsters, to which she often provided the correct answers. 

As soon as they found Yennefer — because  Geralt was sure that they would  — , she could instruct  Ciri on how to use her magic. He would have to leave her with the sorcerer for a couple months, but that was a sacrifice he was willing to make if it meant she would be more equipped to protect herself against enemies he was sure would come her way, eventually. 

Ciri stared at the patrons as they drank and ate festively. The place  wasn’t very crowed that night, for that was no one to entertain them other than themselves and their drinks, but they seemed to get by with little trouble. Across from them, the young man taking care of the food — Gallen was his name, if she remembered correctly — handed her a plate with a lemon cake. They  hadn’t ordered anything other than the two bowls of warm stew they had as dinner, and the ale  Geralt had been nursing since the cup was put in front of him. 

“We didn’t order that.” She said, pushing the plate back towards him. “I don’t think we have  enough coin for it either.” 

Gallen smiled, putting the plate back in front of her and giving it a nudge until it touched her arm. 

“It’s on the house.” She blushed a deep shade of pink and nodded, busying herself with tasting the treat. She smiled,  seemingly  pleased with the flavor. “I thought you would like it.” 

Meanwhile,  Geralt stared at a woman with eyes so blue, one could almost mistake them for being violet in the warm light of the tavern. 

“Do you miss her,  Geralt ?” 

He nodded, there was no need to voice her name. Now that he had found  Ciri , and she  was safely guarded by his side, there was no other woman for him to miss if not Yennefer of  Vengerberg . 

“We’ll find her. She wouldn’t miss the opportunity of meeting you.” 

“Do you think she would ’ve liked me?” 

“She would’ve — she _will_ love you. You’re very much alike. Two forces of nature that no men can contain.” 

Ciri beamed at his response. Smiling from ear to ear, showing the dimples on her cheeks. 

“What about him?” 

“Who?” 

“ Jaskier . Who else?” 

_Jaskier_ _._ Geralt looked at his glass. The ale he was drinking tasted fine not a minute ago — although he wouldn’t do as much as called it good  — , but now it had suddenly turned bitter. The drink was not to blame, though. _No one to blame but yourself. You were the one who chased him away._

To make matters worse, his mind had been playing tricks on him. _Cruel tricks._ He would often think he smelled  Jaskier’s scent, and all but expect the bard to sit beside him and engage in conversation. Only to find the seat being taken by someone else. _Someone who wasn’t him._

“He would ’ve loved you too.” He forced a smile, not wanting  Ciri to notice his change in demeanor. “You enjoy talking as much as he did, and he would ’ve wanted to teach you how to play the lute. He was  quite  good at it.” 

_Oh_.  Ciri’s former joyful expression morphed into something akin to pity. 

“Is he not around anymore?” She asked, whisper-like and regretfully.  Geralt looked at her and then at their surroundings as if to say, _‘Do you see him anywhere? Because I don’t’_ “What I meant was… is he... _dead_?” 

Geralt’s eyes grew wide, his pupils taking  almost all of the space available.  _Jaskier_ _wasn’t dead!_ Why would she think he was dead? _He is — he is —_ Geralt stopped mid-sentence. In all honesty, he  actually had no idea if  Jaskier was alive or not. He hadn’t seen him in at least a year and had heard no news from him either. Not even whispers of a bard who spoke too much and charmed his way into  maiden ’s beds way too often. 

“I don’t know, actually.” 

“It’s just… you always talk about him in the past. Like you were sure you would never meet again.” 

“I’m sure we will, someday. He’s physically incapable of staying away from trouble.” Unbeknownst to him,  Geralt found himself smiling at the thought of the  numerous ways  Jaskier had gotten into trouble throughout the years. “This one time  a couple of years ago, I don’t remember where we were exactly, but he  managed to bathe in the one stream in town  that was  full of  Drowners — two or three at least, adults and starving for some fresh meat. I  have no idea how he escaped them, but he didn’t even have time to get his clothes before running away. So that’s how I found him hours later;  butt naked hiding in the bushes.” 

“You sound like you miss him.” 

“I don’t. We were never friends,  Ciri . Besides… he’s better off without me.” 

“I don’t think that’s for you to decide,  Geralt .” 

“Is that bard of yours not performing tonight?” 

Gallen asked, while removing their empty bowls and the plate he had given  Ciri with dessert. 

“Hm?” 

“Your bard. The one who’s always glued to your behind.” 

_His bard._ Geralt didn’t understand why people were so keen of referring to him as such. He was not the only subject of Jaskier’s ballads. 

“Why do you ask?” 

The young man shrugged. 

“Nothing much. He was here just days ago, and since now you’re here, I just figured you were together.” 

Geralt got up abruptly, startling the boy along with many of the people sitting near them. 

“ Jaskier was here? When?” 

Gallen thought over for a while, but when his mind failed to provide an answer, he turned his attention towards an older man who was cleaning the tables. 

“Aye,  Jarin ! When was it that the bard was here?” 

“Which bard?” 

“Master Witcher’s. Was it three,  fours days ago?” 

The man walked towards them and leaned against the counter, also trying to pull the information from somewhere inside his mind. 

“Four, I think. Might had been five. But I’ve been working on this new infused ale — much stronger than the one we’re serving now  — , so I must confess my perception of time hasn’t been the same since.” 

The young man smiled, apologetically. 

“Three to five days ago then.” 

“I wouldn’t count on him coming back though.” The man said matter-of-factly.  Geralt raised one eyebrow at him, seemingly uninterested and unimpressed with whatever it was the man had to say. “On the event that he might die, that’s all.” 

Geralt chuckled and  Ciri stared at him wide eyed , clearly worried with the predicament and upset with his response. He rested his hand on her shoulder, hoping the touch would be of some comfort. 

“He’s still young. Plenty of time ahead of him.” 

“Ah, but it’s not time that will claim him, Master Witcher.” Gallen provided. “It’s the Raven.” 

“Who’s that,  Geralt ?” 

He shook his head at her and then turned back towards the young man. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“The Raven, Master Witcher. A  very  powerful sorcerer that some say can turn into a raven to spy on people.” He explained. “I saw them deep in conversation and they stayed like that for a very long time.” 

Gallen pointed at the corner across from them and  Geralt was quick to walk towards the table, not caring about the men sitting in it. He inhaled deeply. _It is_ _Jaskier’s_ _scent. He had been there._ And beside him a faint smell he could not place. Probably concealed by magic. 

“Why would she talk to him?” 

The older man gave him a pointed look; _Are you sure you want to know?_

“She promises  riches , true love, fame… anything the person might desire. But it’s all a ruse, for she’s a trickster. And of the worst kind.” 

“How do you know this?” 

“You see… my sister trusted the sorcerer to help her keep the child she was carrying safely inside her womb. She had lost many others before, and all she dreamed of was to deliver a child to full term. And the child did survive, but in exchange… the Raven took her life.” The man took a moment to recompose himself, blinking away tears. “And she did the same to many others before my sister.  So whatever was that she promised your bard, it will be his demise, Witcher” 

Ciri’s hand found his arm, and it was only when she touched him that  Geralt noticed he had been _shaking_.  Jaskier found himself in harm’s way before, but  Geralt had always been there to save him. _But that was before._ Now he had been alone and unprotected – and easy prey. And  Geralt was probably too late to save him this time.

_Gods, don’t let him be dead._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all liked chapter 2, aka Geralt thinking about Jaskier for 3k words.  
> I'm anxious to hear your thoughts on it. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think of the story so far ^ - ^. I would love to know.


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